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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28249182">Hieronymus Bark</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRidcully/pseuds/MrsRidcully'>MrsRidcully</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Chris and Peter friendship, Fluff and Humor, Good Alpha Peter Hale, Hieronymus is not a good dog, M/M, Steter Secret Santa 2020, misadventures of Peter Hale, mythical creatures, road trip kind of, shrugs I don't know</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:41:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,040</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28249182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRidcully/pseuds/MrsRidcully</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I hate you,” Peter hissed, and flashed his eyes. The dog just yawned and rolled over, loudly passing wind to add to the indignity of it all.</p>
<p>Grabbing his phone off the bedside table, he stalked out to the living room. “Stiles, I need you to fix my dog.”</p>
<p> “Not a vet, Peter,” Stiles grumbled, his voice sleepy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hieronymus Bark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/CracklPop/gifts">CracklPop</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I want to first off apologise profusely for this being late and really hope you enjoy this nonsense ...my fluffy mojo went a little silly, there are two chapters to this and the second should be up by the weekend &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Peter held the soggy leather, all that was left of his Tom Ford Elkan loafers. He cast his eyes towards the shoe killer who sat and panted and looked at him with its one good eye, tongue lolling out through the gaps where teeth should be. How he had ended up with the furry, misshapen lump was down to Lydia. Peter was fairly certain this was some sort of diabolical revenge, and in all honesty, the woman deserved to get her pound of flesh from him. Still, he cast a critical eye on the lumpy, misshapen, aggressive, moldy rug that masqueraded as a dog.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> you,” Peter hissed, and flashed his eyes. The dog just yawned and rolled over, loudly passing wind to add to the indignity of it all.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Grabbing his phone off the bedside table, he stalked out to the living room. “Stiles, I need you to fix my dog.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> “Not a vet, Peter,” Stiles grumbled, his voice sleepy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It doesn’t need a vet, it needs a psychologist—possibly an exorcism,” Peter snapped back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter, I’m studying criminal psychology, not animal psychology ” Stiles yawned. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> “Hieronymus and Hannibal would be best friends, I’m sure,” Peter said dryly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter held the phone to his ear, waiting for Stiles to say something. There was a soft sigh from Stiles. “You want me to leave Quantico and come home to help you deal with 12 pounds of small angry dog? Damn it Peter, show him you’re the alpha or whatever the hell and deal with it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I tried that. It ignores me,” Peter admitted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles’s soft chuckle was possibly the nicest sound he had heard all week, but it still didn’t soothe the indignity that had been visited upon him. A wheezing huff sounded behind him and he turned slowly, facing his enemy. Hieronimus nosed around the antique Persian rug tugging with its snaggle teeth at the tassels on the edge, its evil beady eye bright with menace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter held a finger up and shook it at Hieronimus, growling softly at the dog, who gave an asthmatic sounding huff and wandered off to flop on the once pristine Dior Cushion that the pox riddled monster had now claimed as its own. Peter gave a moue of distaste</span>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles was quiet but Peter could hear his soft, even breathing down the line. He imagined Stiles—sleep mussed sitting in bed with that terrible bed hair of his—and a pang of longing swept through him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I miss you.” Peter spoke with uncharacteristic honesty. Stiles let out another sigh, soft and almost fond. “Peter, you promised you wouldn’t do this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I did nothing of the sort.” Okay, maybe it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>implied</span>
  </em>
  <span> that Peter would give Stiles the time and space he needed, but it had been six months already.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles laughed softly. “Don’t fret, creeperwolf. I miss you too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter felt a little smug at that, happy in the assurance that at least he wasn’t the only one dealing with these insufferable feelings.  “I really don’t mean to pressure you, Stiles. I truly respect and support your decision.” Peter sighed and sat down on the edge of the spacious chesterfield. It was too large now without Stiles laying across it, limbs starfished while he read, or studied. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did this month’s care package arrive safely?” Peter asked, glancing back to the now snoring dog.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles again gave a fond chuckle. “It did. I'm not going to ask how you got your hands on a copy of  The Ex Vorbius Demonica, but thank you, it’s interesting reading.” Peter’s wolf perked up—Stiles liked the gift. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There hasn’t been an occurrence of Demonic uprising in centuries, but it pays to be careful.” Peter sided-eyed Heronimus. “And I thought the interesting treatises on the thought processes of some of the lesser demons may be insightful.” Peter demurred.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter,” Stiles’s voice held a note of surprise to it, as he had just discovered something. “You’ve been courting me since we met—the gifts and the care packages, the fact you willingly took over keeping an eye on Pops since I left.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “I want to object to that characterization.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You disagree?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s reductionist.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But it’s true,” Stiles countered. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This was what Peter missed, the easy back and forth, the way Stiles never shirked from pointing out when Peter was right—or wrong.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Even before the fire and every horrible thing that happened, Peter had never been comfortable with his feelings. Admitting love, or even care, meant  opening himself up to the deep, raw need he had to love and be loved. It frightened him and made him feel helpless. He didn’t like those feelings, but for Stiles, he was willing to embrace them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A loud yawn down the line alerted Peter that it was late and he should let Stiles rest. No doubt Rafe McCall had been taking advantage of having Stiles at Quantico.  “Has McCall been working you too hard?” Peter tried to keep the edge out of his voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles made a non-committal sound down the line. “This new serial killer has them worried. Rafe is certain they’re targeting supernaturals, and he’s been kind of adamant he needs my help.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter let out a long sigh. “Stiles, you're still in training. You shouldn’t be put in that sort of position.” He could hear Stiles take a sharply indrawn breath, ready to argue, so he tried to forestall him. “While I am keenly aware of how marvelous your mind is, and that you are no weak maiden when it comes to self-defense, allow me to worry about you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles let out a soft ,shaky laugh. “Yeah, I can do that, and I get that you worry. I don’t know if I’ve told you, but it means a lot that...you know...you think I can do this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I do. I’m supposed to meet Chris for breakfast tomorrow. It seems we have a rogue hunter sniffing around the territory and Derek wants Chris and I to look into it. I was thinking, would you be averse to me telling Chris about us?” While it wasn’t exactly a secret, both he and Stiles had kept their new relationship quiet—not through fear of condemnation, but because it was something they wanted to treasure and enjoy just for themselves for a time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles laughed softly. “It’s totally weird how you two have gone from </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m going to run you through with a rebar</span>
  </em>
  <span> to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ohhhh, let’s get coffee and gossip about the pack.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t gossip, Stiles. We discuss, in great detail, the trials and tribulations of being part of a pack of teenage werewolves. Oh, and how Chris is living in the land of denial about his feelings for a certain Alpha.” Peter grinned at the peal of laughter from Stiles.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Go ahead Peter, I’m not ashamed of you, and if you want to tell the world and deal with Momma McCall’s shovel talk, you truly are a brave wolf.”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d better buy some of those Belgium truffles she likes, maybe a nice bouquet of flowers...on second thoughts, I might need a signed affidavit that I won’t break your heart,” Peter sighed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you sign it in blood and have Pop’s signature as well, you might get away with just a firm talking too,” Stiles agreed, then let out another yawn.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I should let you rest sweetheart, and I still need to take Satan’s toilet brush out for a walk.” Peter glared over at Heronimus.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m going to go find some more coffee and finish reading these files.” At Peter's soft growl Stiles gave another laugh. “I’ll sleep soon, worrywolf, go walk Hieronimus and try not to get into any trouble. either of you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, Stiles.” Peter wanted to say more, but fear of saying too much too soon stilled his tongue.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Three more weeks, Peter. Then I’m all yours for the summer,” Stiles said softly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll count the hours,” Peter said, then groaned inwardly at the sentimentality.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> He need not have worried though, as Stiles mirrored his thoughts. “Me too,” he said, before hanging up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter held the phone and stared at it dumbly for a moment, then chuckled and slid it into his pocket. He was in love with the boy and there was not a thing to be done about it, and that made Peter unexpectedly happy.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>000</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter stared at the caramel swirl his spoon created in his coffee, trying to find a way to share his news with  the former hunter who was now—astoundingly—the closest thing to a best friend Peter had ever had. “I’m seeing someone!” he blurted out, all tact and pretense failing him</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chris arched a silver brow and smirked. “Real or imaginary?” he asked, then quickly dodged a spoonful of cappuccino foam that was flung his way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Asshole,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Peter muttered, but smirked at the shit-eating grin Chris gave him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thought something like that must be up.” Chris blew into the mug of hot coffee. “You’ve been calmer.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Calmer?” Peter sat back against the padded booth </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, less officious, and less likely to start a war just for the fun of it. They must be pretty special,  considering you look like a loved-up puppy and not a homicidal maniac.” Chris smirked and held up a hand. “I mean, the look was good on you, the whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>I am Peter Hale, hear me roar</span>
  </em>
  <span>  thing, but this look suits you better.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter ducked his head, trying to hide the smile that always escaped when he thought of his boy. “It’s still new, early days, but I’m almost certain he feels the same for me as I feel for him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You're taking it slow?” Chris asked, putting his mug down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dad,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m taking it slow. I wouldn't feel right rushing this, it’s…” Peter let out a hopeless little sigh “It’s special...fuck, I—I think I’m in love with him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow, those are words I never thought I would hear out of your mouth.” the fond look Chris gave Peter made him realize just how far the two of them had come.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stiles is important to me, he’s so god damn smart, and that boy is sexy as hell.” Peter sighed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Woah. Stiles, as in Derek’s emissary Stiles, as in, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the Sheriff’s son,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Stiles? The same Sheriff who has threatened, and I quote, to</span>
  <em>
    <span> gut you and hang you like a hunting trophy if you cause problems for the kids</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Sheriff?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The good Sheriff and I have come to an understanding. I’ve promised not to push Stiles—which I wouldn’t do anyway—and to let him finish at college before we get too serious,” Peter answered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chris took another long drink and cocked his head, the mannerism so wolf-like that Peter had to smother a grin. All the years Chris had spent around werewolves had rubbed off on him more than he wanted to admit.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Isn’t he a little...” Chris started, and Peter groaned.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>”If you say young, so help me, Chris. Don’t make me mention your woeful attempts at trying to court you know who. I mean seriously,  all that ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>will they,  won’t they’</span>
  </em>
  <span>  is painful to watch.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chris blushed a deep scarlet that almost made Peter feel bad for bringing it up...almost. “You know why I’m hesitant.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes I do, and it shows what a good man you are, but you're not your sister,” Peter answered bluntly. “If you want my opinion—which I know you don’t, but fuck you, you’re getting it—you both deserve some good in your lives, and I think that if you would both pull your heads out of your collective asses, you would see that you could be that for each other,” Peter said, warming to his lecture.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you finished trying to misdirect the conversation? Or can we get back to the you and Stiles thing?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter rolled his eyes. “And we were doing so well, too. Fine, ask your questions.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, you were the one to bring this up, that’s not on me.”  Chris pointed out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter let out a dramatic sigh. “I can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>believe</span>
  </em>
  <span> I have turned into this mess.  I phoned him last night because the  dog ate my shoe. Well, that was the excuse anyway.” Peter looked at his nails, not wanting to see the smirk on Chris's face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I that pathetic Christopher? Have I turned into my worst nightmare?” Peter pouted and took a long swig from his coffee.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not pathetic, it's sweet.” Chris held up a hand. “Tell anyone I said that and I’ll gut you, you're not the only one who can feel his tough-bitten reputation crumbling.” Chris scowled, but there was no real heat to it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s rather rude how feelings sneak up on you, isn't it?” Peter smiled into his coffee at the wry nod Chris gave.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A soft growling below the table had Peter look around sharply to make sure no one had noticed, before taking a piece of bacon from his plate and sliding it under the table. There was a loud crunching sound.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>believe </span>
  </em>
  <span>you snuck that thing in here?” Chris whisper-hissed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I wasn’t going to leave it alone with my furniture again, I'm not a fool.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you certain it's not some evil trick from a pissed off magic user?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not entirely, no. It's the most disreputable, foul tempered beast I’ve ever met. He barely tolerates me. Come to think of it, the only being I have seen it be nice to was Derek, but I think they bonded over the expressive eyebrow thing.” Peter sighed and Chris let out a loud chuckle..Another growl from under the table had Peter hissing, “You be quiet, you furry reprobate. I only brought you here to save my rug, the damn thing is an antique.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t you go visit your boy, Peter? He has a place off campus. You could spend the weekend together. The break would do you good.” Chris reasoned. The idea had merit, Peter had to admit. Time away from this damn town and some quality time with Stiles could be good. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But what do I do with the devil’s toilet brush?” Peter refused to look under the table. The damn dog was far too quiet, which was worrying, but Peter resisted the urge to look.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Would Lydia take him?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not after he chewed her Milano Blanics she won’t. I told her not to leave her shoes there, but would she listen? No. “ Peter rolled his eyes at Chris, who was grinning like a fool.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“John?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not if I want to continue life with my testicles intact.” Peter answered quickly. “I don’t suppose...?” he asked, hopefully. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chris frowned. “I'm going to give that a hard pass. That dog...” Chris held up his hands as if warding off said evil dog. “Besides, I have plans for tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter gave a gasp of mock outrage “You liar!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chris shook his head, blue eyes bright with mirth. “No I’m not. I'm taking the advice of a good friend and finally manning up and asking Derek out for dinner.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter couldn't help but smile. “Well in that case I won’t impose the damn animal on you. There is no helping it. He’s going to have to come with me.” It  wasn't ideal, but then, when had life ever given Peter ideal situations? “I just hope I can get a flight.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter reached for his phone where it sat on the table but Chris reached over and stilled his hand. “I think I can help out. Remember that friend of mine, Rebecca?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The Druid?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Well she’s still in town. It seems the gnomes have given her a lot of information to work with.”  Peter was pleased to hear that. The gnomes had sent a very polite note asking for permission to move into the stones—they had been living rough since they had arrived and needed somewhere safe. Peter, as co-alpha with Derek, had no hesitation in letting the gnomes move in. If anything, their presence would be beneficial to the preserve and to the land all around. He had introduced Chris’s friend to the Matriarch of the Gnome clan and had left them to it. He probably should have stuck around, but he had been worried about a certain demon dog eating his sofa. Still. “How does this bear any relevance to my current situation, Chris?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chris smirked and sat back against his chair. “Well she flew in on a private jet and I do believe she lives not that far from Quantico. She’s flying back tonight, and I know the chance to share a flight with one of the famous Hale alphas would have her all aquiver.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter let out a loud laugh “All a quiver? Oh my god ,Argent. But apart from your questionable word choices, I could kiss you right now.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chris’s face pulled a series of comical maneuvers. “No need to get handsy. I'll give her a call and then you can be on your way.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then I’d better head home and pack a bag.” Peter tried to keep the excitement he felt from bubbling out, but one look at the smirk on Chris's face told him he was failing terribly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>0o0</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As promised Chris’s black SUV sat outside promptly at 6pm. Peter checked his appearance once more in the hall mirror before he headed out. Maybe he should have worn the suit. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter you look fine, and I'm pretty sure Stiles is going to be more interested in getting the clothes off you than critiquing your choice in shirt, that's more a </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing,” Chris grumbled from where he leant against the hallway wall.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It was one time, Christopher and I was right, that shirt was appalling on you.” Peter ran a hand through his hair. He should have gotten it cut, it was fuller than he normally wore it, and was curling at the ends with no regards to style or propriety. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, you're pretty, can we go now? Rebeca will be waiting for us at the airfield.” Chris made motions with his hands trying to move Peter along.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Will you and Derek be okay with keeping and eye on things while I’m gone?” Peter hadn’t left Beacon Hills in months and he hated that he felt like he was abandoning the place, even if it was just for a weekend.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to shoot you if you don’t get that arse moving,” Chris huffed </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter glared back at him. “You tried that before and it didn’t work. Besides, Derek would be vexed with you if you shot me,” Peter pouted and even went as far to bat his lashes at Chris which earned him a snorting laugh.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Relieved is what I think Derek would be. Now come on Hale, get moving.” </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The jet was waiting for them when they arrived at the small airfield outside of Beacon Hills. Rebecca, a small, animated woman, was literally bouncing when they pulled up, and before the car had even come to a shop she was running at great speed to meet them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my goddess, I’m so excited to meet you again, Alpha Hale, I have so many questions.” Peter extended a hand to the bubbly woman, who ignored it and went in for the hug.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All Peter could do was stand mouthing curses at Chris as the tiny woman hugged him with ferocity. “Oh sorry, I'm a hugger,” she giggled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Goddess, this was going to be a long flight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>0o0</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rebeca proved to be a delightfully intelligent woman, but she was exhausting. The woman did not stop. Her mind worked on so many different levels as she asked questions and postulated answers endlessly. An hour into the flight, Peter was looking for a stronger drink.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now, safely landed, with his ears and his ribs aching from the farewell hug, Peter was scowling at the rental car in front of him. The car—if that was what it could be called—was a small beige hatchback that looked like something out of a bad 80s film. Hieron walked up to the car and growled. Well, at least he and the mutt agreed on something. Letting out a loud, drawn out sigh,  Peter opened the car door.  It smelled like week old talkaway and sex...oh goddess, someone had sex in this car </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> recently. The hire place was closed and the number that had been given to him to call was ringing out. This was the last time he trusted google reviews. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thunder rumbled ominously and the first fat drops of rain started to splat down upon the ground. Driving with the window down to let the car air wasn’t going to be an option, and Peter wondered glumly how long he could hold his breath.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Upon turning the key the car’s engine coughed into life, and Peter pulled away. He had the address of Stiles’s apartment in his phone and at a best guess it was only a thirty minute trip till he got there, Hiero barked from his place on the musty passenger seat. “If you're saying this is unacceptable, then I'm prone to agree with you,” Peter muttered, trying to keep an eye on the road. The wipers were doing no more than pushing the water back and forth on the front windshield, the street lights were a hit and miss affair, and even with his werewolf vision it was a struggle to keep on the road. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taking his eyes from the road for just a minute, Peter fumbled trying to pull his phone up. Hieronymus let out a sharp bark and Peter looked up just as a large dark shape crashed into the side of the car. Hands gripping the wheel, Peter let out a stream of curses. The car spun on the slippery road and came to a grinding halt when it slammed into the wall of one of the factories that lined the road.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling his jacket up over his head, Peter pulled himself out of the car to assess the damage. Hiero refused to move from his spot on the passenger seat, fixing Peter with a baleful glare. “It's not my fault.” Peter snapped. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Great, now I'm trying to reason with a dog.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Standing out in the rain Peter glared at the torn and bent metal that once passed as the front wheel and fender.  That damage had been caused by  whatever had hit them. The other side of the car took the hit from the wall and didn’t seem much better. A loud, snorting grunt sounded behind him. Sighing with resignation, Peter turned to face what ever had taken out his car...”You have </span>
  <em>
    <span>got </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be fucking kidding me.” He fought the urge to giggle manically as he found himself face to face with a wet, angry Calydonian Boar.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>How was this even possible? The last reported sighting of one of these beasts was close to four hundred years ago, and even then the source was sketchy to say the least—a Druid under the influence of some rather creative herbs  swore he had been accosted by one of these mythical beasts in the Black Forest. Peter had never given any credence to the story, but here, now, in the pouring rain in an industrial estate on the wrong side of Virgina, he was rapidly rethinking his opinion.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The gigantic boar snorted, and its cloven hooves struck down hard on the wet road. Its red, beady eyes glared in challenge at Peter. “You know what, little pig? You picked a fight with the wrong wolf. All I wanted was to spend the weekend with Stiles, is that too much to ask?” Peter held his hands out to the night sky, looking up but getting no sympathy from the oppressive gloom. He looked back at the boar, and snarled, “This is going to end badly for you, my snouted friend. I see a pork crown roast in your future.”  Peter charged at the creature, vaguely aware that Hieronymus was running alongside him. The stupid dog was going to get itself killed, but before Peter could act, the boar was upon them.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for the love and reading my Stuffs</p></blockquote></div></div>
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